Matters being thus happily matured, the lover begged that immediate recourse might be had to the church, and set out with G.o.dfrey for Doctor Commons for a license, having first agreed that the ceremony should be performed in the lodgings of the bride.

Permission being obtained, they found a means to engage a clergyman, who undertook to attend them at their own time and place.

The ceremony was performed without delay, Hatchway standing as G.o.dfather to the bride.

Such another couple as Peregrine and Emilia were not to be found in the whole United Kingdom.

MADAME DE STAeL

Corinne

Madame de Stael, the most famous and brilliant of the many famous Frenchwomen of the Revolution and the Empire, was born, like Bonaparte himself, of alien parents. Her father was Necker, the eminent Swiss minister of finance under Louis XVI, whose triumph and exile were among the startling events of the opening stage of the Revolution; whilst her mother, also Swiss, had been the lover of the historian Gion and now presided over one of the most brilliant _salons_ in Paris.

Anne Marie Louise Germaine Necker was born at Paris on April 22, 1766. In 1787 she was married--unhappily--to Baron de Stael-Holstein, Swedish Amba.s.sador at Paris. She was in peril during the Terror, but escaped to Switzerland. A few years afterwards she showed keen political activity against Napoleon, who respected her hostility so profoundly that he would not suffer her to approach Paris. Madame de Staels "Corinne, or Italy," is accounted one of her two masterpieces, the other one being "On Germany." (See Vol. XX.) It was published in 1807, and was written at Coppet, in Switzerland, her place of residence and exile during her many enforced sojourns from Paris by order of the Emperor. "Corinne" not only revealed for the first time to the Frenchmen of her day the grandeur and mystery and charm of Italy, but also showed the national characteristics of French and Englishmen for the first time in their respective, and in a European light.

Moreover, as one European critic has pointed out, it is also one of the first, and still one of the subtlest, studies in the psychology of s.e.x and emanc.i.p.ation of woman of the nineteenth century. Madame de Stael's relations with the clever and ambitious young statesman and writer, Benjamin Constant, formed the chief source of her inspiration in writing "Corinne," as it formed his in writing "Adolphe."

Madame de Stael died in Paris, July 14, 1817.

_I.--The Roman Poetess_

When Oswald, Lord Nevil, awoke on his first morning in Rome, he heard church bells ringing and cannon firing, as if announcing some high solemnity. He inquired the cause and learned that the most celebrated woman in Italy would that morning be crowned at the capital--Corinne, the poetess and improvisatrice, one of the loveliest women of Rome.

As he walked the streets, he heard her named every instant. Her family name was unknown. She had won fame by her verses five years before, under the simple name of Coe; and no one could tell where she had lived nor what she had been, in her earlier days.

The, triumphal procession approached, heralded by a burst of melody.

First came a number of Roman n.o.bles, then an antique car drawn by four spotless steeds, escorted by white clad maidens. Not until he beheld the woman in the car did Oswald lay aside his English reserve and yield to the spirit of the scene. Corinne was tall, robust like a Greek statue, and transcendently beautiful. Her att.i.tude was n.o.ble and modest; while it manifestly pleased her to be admired, yet a timid air blended with her joy, and she seemed to ask pardon for her triumph.

She ascended to the capitol; the a.s.sembled Roman poets recited her praises; Prince Castel Forte, the most honoured of Roman n.o.blemen, uttered a eulogy of her; and, ere she received the destined bays, she took up her lyre and in accordance with custom gave a poetic improvisation. The subject of her pa.s.sionate chant was the glory of Italy; and amid the impetuous applause that followed, Corinne, looking round, observed Oswald. She saw him to be English; she was struck by his melancholy, and by the mourning he wore. Taking up her lyre again, she spoke some touching stanzas on death and consolation that went straight to his heart.

The crown of bays and myrtle was placed on her head; she descended from the Capitol amid a burst of triumphant music. As she pa.s.sed Oswald, the crown accidentally fell from her head. He quickly picked it up and restored it to her, with a few words of homage in Italian. What was his surprise when she thanked him in perfect English!

On the evening of the next day, Oswald was introduced to Corinne at her own house by the Count d'Erfeuil, a Frenchman who had been his companion in the journey into Italy. The Prince Castel Forte and all the other guests paid her the most a.s.siduous attention; Oswald gazed on her for the most part in silence, wondering at the mingled sweetness and vivacity of her conversation, realising that she possessed a grace that he had never met before. Although she invited him to meet her again, he did not go on the next evening; he was restrained by a kind of terror at the feeling which excited him.

"Oh, my father," he sighed, "had you known Corinne, what would you have thought of her?"

For the mourning that Oswald wore was for his father. A terrible event in Oswald's life had drawn the two apart; his father had died ere he could return to ask forgiveness. But his father had blessed him on his deathbed, and it was Oswald's whole desire in the grief that preyed upon him, to live in all things as his dead parent would have wished him to live.

The attraction of Corinne's society soon drew him back to her presence, and during the next fortnight she, at her own proposal, guided him in his exploration of Rome. Together they wandered through the ruins, the churches, the art galleries. Their opinions were seldom in agreement; Corinne was characteristically and brightly Italian in her views, Oswald characteristically and sombrely English. But each was conscious, none the less, of keen intellectual sympathy with the other; and Oswald, without speaking of the love of which he began to be conscious, made her sensible of it every hour in the day. His proud retiring attachment shed a new interest over her life. Accustomed as she was to the lively and flattering tributes of the Italians, this outward coldness disguising intense tenderness of heart captivated her imagination.

But one morning she received from him a note saying that indisposition would confine him to his house for some days. Oswald had made up his mind to avoid Corinne; he felt too strongly the power of her charms.

What would his father have said of this woman? Could she, the brilliant poetess, be expected to possess the English domestic virtues which his father valued above all things in a wife? Besides, there was a mystery about her; she had not revealed her name and family even to him; nor had he ever had an explanation of her perfect knowledge of English.

Corinne was terrified, on receiving the note, by the idea that he would fly without bidding her adieu. Unable to rest in the house where Oswald came not, she wandered in the gardens of Rome, hoping to meet him. As she was seated in grief beside the Fount of Trevi, Oswald, who had paused there at the same moment, saw her countenance reflected in the water. He started, as if he had seen her phantom; but a moment later Corinne had rushed forward and seized his arm--then, repenting of her impetuosity, she blushed, and covered her face to hide her tears.

"Dear Corinne!" he cried, "has my absence pained you?"

"Yes," she replied, "you must have known it would. Why then inflict such pangs on me? Have I deserved them?"

Her emotion greatly affected Oswald. "I will visit you again to-morrow, Corinne," he said. "Swear it!" she exclaimed, eagerly. "I do."

_II.--The Living and the Dead_

Oswald's natural irresolution had been augmented by misfortune, and he hesitated before entering upon an irrevocable engagement. Although he no longer sought to disguise his affection for Corinne, he did not propose marriage to her. She, on her part, was mortified by his silence. Often he was on the point of breaking it; but the thought of his father restrained him--and the thought of Lucy Edgarmond, the English girl whom his father had wished him to marry, when she was old enough, and whom he had not seen since she was a child of twelve. What, he asked himself, again and again, was his duty?

One day, as he was visiting her at her house at Tivoli, she took her harp and sang one of those simple Scotch ballads, the notes of which seemed fit to be borne on the wailing breeze. Oswald's heart was touched at the memories thus awakened of his own country; his eyes filled with tears.

"Ah, Corinne," he cried, "does then my country affect your heart? Could you go with me there, and be the partner of my life?"

"Surely I could," she answered, "for I love you."

"In love's name, then, tell me who you are, Corinne; have no more secrets from me."

"Your will shall be obeyed, Oswald. I only ask that you require not my story until the religious solemnities of Easter are over; is not the support of heaven more than ever necessary at the moment which must decide my fate?"

"Corinne," he said, "if thy fate depends on me, it shall no longer be a sad one."

When Easter was over, Corinne set out for Naples, where she had many friends and admirers; and Oswald accompanied her there. She still feared to tell the story of her life.

"Who can tell," she said to Oswald, "if, when I have opened my heart to you, you will remain the same? How can I help trembling beneath such doubt?"

To encourage her, and to exchange confidences honourably with her, he told her his own secret He had been skilfully drawn into an intrigue with a scheming Frenchwoman, utterly against his father's wishes; when he had escaped from the net that had been cast for him, and was hurrying homeward, he heard the news that the being whom he loved and revered most of all mankind was dead. He had knelt at his father's tomb and sworn in atonement that he would never marry without his consent. But how obtain the consent of one who was no more? Lucy Edgarmond--Corinne started at the name--had been destined by his father for his bride. Was the wish one that could be set aside? He had simply advised the match, for Lucy was still a child with character unformed.

"Ere I met you," said Oswald, "I meant to fulfil his wish as an act of expiation; but now," he went on pa.s.sionately, "you have triumphed over my whole being. My doubts are over, love; I am yours for ever. Would my father have had it otherwise had he known you?"

"Hold," cried Corinne, "speak not thus to me yet!"

"Ah, tell me what you have to tell me!"

"Presently I shall; and I shall hear my sentence from your lips unmurmuringly, even if it be cruel."

Ere she revealed her story, Corinne gave a fete, as if to enjoy one more day of fame and happiness ere her lover p.r.o.nounced her doom. It was held on the cape of Micena. The lovely bay and its islands lay before the party; Vesuvius frowned in the background. As the party embarked to return in the glowing calm of the evening hour, Corinne put back her tresses that she might better enjoy the sea air; Oswald had never seen her look so beautiful.

"Oh, my love, oh, my love," he whispered, "can I ever forget this day?"

"Alas!" returned Corinne, "I hope not for such another day."

"Corinne!" he cried, "here is the ring my father gave his wife, let me give it to you, and while you keep it, let me be no longer free."

"No, no! take it back," she answered in a stifled voice.